It’s been three years without you.
Some days have become easier. Others not so much. My brain no longer goes on auto pilot to call you when I get into the car or on a Sunday afternoon. However, when exciting news or events appear you are still the first person I want to tell. It’s automatic. In my own secret way I still tell you. Sometimes in my head. Sometimes out aloud.
These past three years I have changed. Grown. I’m getting better at being me. I trust myself with making my own decisions. I’ve become braver and stronger. I’m still learning to use my voice although I’ve stopped worrying about what others think of me. I follow my gut and go with it. When it doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t. I follow it.
I listen more to my body. When my back hurts, I stretch. I also ask myself why I’m feeling like I’m not being supported. When I have a sore throat, I ask myself why I am so scared to speak or who is it that I feel is not listening. I’m getting better at recognising my limits. When I’m drained. When to relax. When I need to let go, stop and not be so hard on myself. Be still. Realign. I am becoming stronger with excusing myself from toxic relationships as well as avoiding them.
My real friends have been reaching out to me to spend more time together. Perhaps they always had and I never noticed. I’m appreciating their company more and more. Perhaps I’m not dragging them down as much. All the changes are for the better but I still miss you. Our chats. Coffee. Advice. A warm, friendly and familiar voice. Even though I’m constantly growing and changing these things will never change.
Happy Birthday Mum. We all miss you so much.